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i'm in love with you and it *****
why can't you leave me alone?
everywhere I go, you linger
the memories, they linger

i'm addicted and it *****
Last December, I decided that either true love existed
somewhere out of my reach, or it didn't exist at all.
In the mirror, my reddened eyes leered back at me,
piercing and livid, searching for the problem or the answer.

Ten minutes later, I was cured by cold pizza
and a hot shower, which made me wonder
if emotions were even real, or if I was always
just some version of hungry or tired.

Some sadistic part of me considered it a victory
to have had my heart broken, because at least that meant
I could feel something. It sounds crazy, but that's love,
and that's losing. It'll make you mad,
and it'll make you angry, too.

Time has a funny way of making a fool of me.
I couldn't tell you if there's a meaning to everything,
or if we're all just trying to make sense of what hurts us,
but I like to say I learned a lot in the six months
of never again:

que será, será, and c'est la vie; the future will surprise you
no matter how much you overthink; true love probably exists,
you just need a nap; and sometimes,
you don't realize what you almost had
until you're glad you didn't get it.
They'll tell you that you're selfish when you finally let them go
They'll guilt you and they'll shame you for not caring
When you take control of all the things that you already know
And let go of all the pain that you've been bearing

They will tremble in the shockwave that you leave them in your wake
As you put the days you wasted far behind you
They will tread above the water in a panic of self-hate
As they realize that there's nobody to run to

They didn't want you, but they did, when they thought you'd walk away
But reality had never crossed their mind
That maybe you are stronger than who you were yesterday
So you had to leave some clues for them to find

They'll scream at you and say that you are wrong to block them out
But the peace is almost deafening to hear
As they realize all the love that now they'll have to live without
They will try and stuff you full of all their fear

So now smile. Walk away until you can't hear anything
What they say is now no longer yours to hold
So go off, enjoy the light that only happiness can bring
And let all the things that you deserve unfold
Sophia 5d
You told me you'd never put me in pain.
But tell me, What's your idea of pain?


Because to me,
Pain is sitting at my kitchen table,
Writing about someone who promised me the world,
And then took it back.


To me,
pain is never looking at your friend's eyes the same way,
Because they always remind me of you.


To me,
Pain is thinking someone loves you,
Until they don't,
With no ifs or buts.

What is your distorted,
Delusional,
Idea of pain?
Eyes. Heartbreak is her sunlit memory barely held by a wooden clothespin. It hangs and glares before your eyes, mocking as it fades into an empty filmstrip. Heartbreak is a lost soul left to perish in her ghost-town, and warmer sunsets are lifetimes away. A wonderwall left standing, pinned polaroids, desperate scratches. You had fought hard and long, for this, but homes are made for breaking and crumbling and leaving, especially in the losing side.

Mouth. Heartbreak is a paper-tag of a goodbye caught in her lips. It is a metaphor that melts at the soft space under your tongue, a certain bittersweet taste made for drowning with a cold lager, a stranger’s whispers, and the perils of his unfiltered cigarette kiss. Heartbreak is taming a manic scream into a delicate, defeated sigh, out of sync with the way she breathed. But then sighing still hurts, and breathing still hurts because you’re alive – you’re so ******* alive for this unbuffered pain.

Chest. Heartbreak is begging your chest not to break amid a listzomaniac rush. Heartbreak is a prosaic throbbing, a treacherous ***** stuck in your ribs, begging to be held like it doesn’t hurt. Heartbreak is a site of buried lavender lithiums, asking for a eulogy; but silence is equally as oppressive. It is your body betraying you, like a city undone by its smokes. It is a quiet word – not a poem, because poems are beautiful despite the pain, and this isn’t. This isn’t.

Hands. Heartbreak is your shaky hand flipping through the last three pages of a tragedy — a heroine dies, a stray star falls, a maiden leaves on a horse-drawn carriage. There is no changing of the ending. Heartbreak is reaching for the empty space in bed, leaving your fingers in technicolored bruises. How can emptiness break one’s bones? Heartbreak is scrubbing your skin dry, raw, and untouchable where she once laid her kisses. Heartbreak is your nails digging through her letters in utter despair — for invisible ink, a promise in the postscript, an estranged lover in familiar flesh, only to find torn sheets, spilled wine, and finality.

Legs. Heartbreak is coming home to ***** laundry all over these cold, wistful floors. Heartbreak is walking in hushed tiptoes only to trip and fall down a memory lane – a kaleidoscope of all the wounds that can possibly hurt. It is catching an empty train to somewhere unloving her is possible – doable. Heartbreak is teaching your legs to run away from the chaos of her naked skin, and not to fall at her feet. But still, you fall and you fall and you break what’s left of your bones chasing after something that’s already gone – long before it has said goodbye. So turn your back and hold your heart — it breaks harder, louder, and worse before it settles down and sits as quiet aching: a forgotten filmstrip, a soundless breath, a calm poem, a serene night.
Anne 6d
they don't look like me.
those girls
with their *******
and baby teeth.

pink daisy chains,
sweet blubbering.
joyful hearts swollen,
i can feel them.

i smell a childhood memory,
she loves mornings.
the one in red
kisses her puppy,
sleeps in braided hair.

under your gaze,
they'll be paper forever.
and me?
am i tree bark to you?
do i still exist
while i'm gone?

peekaboo.

baby i've called you,
thus baby you've become.
my ******* are sore,
i've run dry of milk.

photographs don't bleed.
**** on something else for dinner.
but i insist,
keep tripping over
that tail of yours.
i find it rather funny.
Summer’s gone
You went away
Hoped to stay friends
To stay in touch

We do still talk
But not as much
It’s not the same
Oh not at all

Summer’s gone
You went away
I hate it now
It’s not the same
I wish the circumstances were different
Dorian, See yourself in the glassy white eyes of mine
Know yourself in the painting of little lies of mine

You say that you wish to just disappear someday
If only you could weigh yourself in the silent cries of mine

Fall like cascade from my head to my feet and you will,
trace your name in the skin of arms and thighs of mine

My gentle benign blue ivy flower
Never see through the delighted disguise of mine

Now I sing in the heaven that I got because of you
Ever since you became the utter demise of mine
This was my first attempt at writing a ghazal
Do you remember the first time we met?
When I snuck out? My parents thought I was gone for the weekend, camping with a friend.
Instead, I came to you.

Do you remember how long that drive felt?
Did we really understand how far Texas is from Arizona? but hearing your voice on the phone
made the distance feel less daunting.

Do you remember the party my family planned for you
when you first moved in? You cried about it being
your first real birthday party.
They loved you from that first moment.

Do you remember that first tiff?
We both sat in silence for a minute, thinking it over; you
spoke first, something that was hard for me.
I felt so happy for it all to be over.

Do you remember how it felt to truly love each other? Do I?
I thought I didn't want to break your
heart by saying it was over,
but the reality was, I feared being alone again.

Thankfully, you had enough strength for both of us.
Though it hurt, the feeling of relief was immense. Do you remember me being happy?
It has been a while.

When will it come back?
Part 3 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from Maria Hummel's “I’m This Many.”
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